Follow Your Heart
by entre-lagrimas-y-suspiros
Summary: [MM/HG] One-shot. "Don't. Your husband and children are waiting. We don't have time." M: for suggestive material but nothing explicit.


_AN: Hey everyone. I know I've been MIA for a while, but I think I'm back now. So, here is a little one-shot to get me going again. Enjoy-xio_

Follow Your Heart

She leaves wet footprints as she moves across the stone floor. Clutching the towel to her chest she glances at the clock on the mantle. It's getting late. She'll have to leave soon. Ron was only working a half-day and she had to pick up her children at the Burrow before heading home. A grocery list a footlong hangs on her refrigerator and the breakfast dishes still sit in sink waiting for her.

Outside the ancient castle her life is waiting.

Dark emerald eyes follow her around the room. A robe as green as those eyes hangs loosely from slim shoulders, forming a deep v and exposing a great deal of pale skin. Skin Hermione's tongue had trailed down earlier.

Her desire, quelled by the shower, spikes again (hot, fast, and desperate)at the sight of so much skin. She can never get enough, not of her. Hermione wants her too much. She needs her, always.

It was that desperate feeling, that need so deep it could not be ignored forever, that had driven them to this. It had driven her to live for stolen moments. An hour or two (disguised as lunch or tea) here and there, just enough time to satisfy the hunger that gnaws at her incessantly. The need to be herself, to open her heart for someone who could look past all the labels and expectations, and still want her. It's a need that has been eating at her for too long.

Hermione should have known it would her. It was so obvious now. It was in the way the other woman looked at her (holding her gaze longer than anyone else), in the way she held onto congratulatory hugs for endless seconds, and in the way she was always there anytime Hermione needed a friend. It was always going to be Minerva she lost herself in.

It could never be anyone else. They've been circling each other for years now, just out of reach. Hermione has run into Minerva at Ministry meetings and parties, at the Burrow, and the Potter's. Seeing the venerable Headmistress so often (have lengthy conversation about everything and nothing at all) allowed her to see the woman behind the accolades. It had left the older witch bare before her and Hermione had been unable to resist being pulled in by Minerva's vulnerabilities and insecurities.

Minerva wasn't a title. She wasn't distant and perfect. She wasn't a statue to venerate. She was more real than anyone Hermione had met before. It grounded her and freed her like nothing else was able to, like no one else was able to. The more she saw Minerva the harder it became to squash her desire under the mantle of duty (to her husband, her children, and her life) and honor she carried around. Nothing could contain the need to be with Minerva.

Her lips curve into a smile at Minerva's inquisitive look. It's a look of honest curiosity, a lifted brow and bright wide eyes, that tell her she's been staring at Minerva for too long. The look is incredibly sexy and Minerva doesn't even know it. She would never know how a look so mundane could stoke Hermione's lust to the point of making her uncomfortable. Hermione honestly doesn't understand it either, but it does.

The openness in the green eyes hits her right in the chest and spreads like an avalanche covering everything in a need to stay in Minerva's arms. It's a need that has to go unfulfilled. They don't have the time. She should be getting dressed and leaving. Minerva shouldn't even be in the room. Goodbyes is something they just don't do. It's hard to know if it's simply because Minerva doesn't like goodbyes or because she doesn't like to think that they are on borrowed time. Hermione avoids thinking about it, but it can't be helped. This is what it is, no matter what either of them might want.

She moves closer, standing astrid Minerva's legs. Hovering for a moment she watches the midday summer light dance across emerald eyes. She grabs Minerva's shoulders to steady herself as she sinks onto the woman's thighs. Arms snake around her lower back, holding her there even though confusion flashes in Minerva's eyes.

"I thought you had to leave?"

Squirming a bit she settles down, pressing herself against Minerva's legs. "I do."

Leaning in she pushes her lips against Minerva's seeking out the woman's tongue without a second thought. Intense, scorching hot, kisses are always so much easier between them. Hermione could kiss like this forever. These kisses are all naked desire. She can hide in them. There is no need to explain your feelings when it's all heat. She doesn't need to put herself out there, to risk being turned away or being welcomed (she is still not sure which she fears most). She doesn't have to think at all about what they're doing or why they're doing it.

"We don't have time." The words are said as Hermione's mouth moves to Minerva's jawline, dropping open mouthed kisses as she moves down. "I like to take my time, my dear, and so do you...Hermione."

It could be a warning or a simple reminder that time really isn't on their side and that life awaits them both. She ignores it, lowering her head to Minerva's neck she lets her teeth brush against her pulse point. She bites down feeling her own arousal wet between her thighs as Minerva whimpers. Thoughts of leaving, of being anywhere but there, vanish and she tugs at the towel letting it pool at her waist.

"Don't. Your husband and children are waiting. We don't have time."

As Minerva speaks Hermione's hands travel over the smooth silk robe, dropping from her shoulders to Minerva's chest waiting to push the woman back onto to the mattress. "We could make time."

It's only because she's looking that she can see the tension flood Minerva's body. "And what will you tell Molly when you're late to pick up the children? Why did our lunch run late? What will you tell Ronald when he gets home to an empty house?"

The hard tone (the sharpness that cuts easily) brings Hermione up short. Her arousal disappears as her mouth goes dry.

"You should go." The arms that have been holding securely fall away as Minerva rocks back putting as much space between them as their position allows.

"What's brought this on?" She sighs in exasperation, sexual frustration fulling her anger. "You're never like this."

"Of course not, because I always avoid being here to watch you leave. I avoid being here afterwards. I avoid having this conversation."

She huffs confusion mingling with her anger. "What conversation is that?"

"The one where I tell you I can't do this anymore!"

Everything feels heavier instantly. The air she's breathing seems to coalesce in her throat choking her. All the anger seeps out of her, leaving only dread. "What do you mean you can't do this? I thought you wanted this. I thought you liked what we've been doing."

"You think I like being the other woman? That I liked having to lie to the people I consider family? Or having to act like I don't know what you taste like? Or acting like seeing him kiss you doesn't affect me? Is that what you thought I liked?"

Hermione is speechless. What could she possibly say to that? She wants to draw her mindless words back in, to undo the hurt she's caused. It's too late now (for everything). She realizes they've reached the point where all they've been running from, all the unasked questions and guilt, have caught up with them.

There is so much she should say to Minerva, so much the other woman deserves to hear, but all that comes out is, "I need you."

Minerva's smile doesn't reach her eyes, but there is a softness to her look that makes Hermione feel safe (at home). "I love you."

It hits her squarely in the chest. It hits that place that she has been ignoring for most of her adult life. There is a shift at those words that she wants to undo. The warmth that invades her, the need to do anything to stay in that moment forever, leaves her breathless.

"I love you so much, I stopped thinking properly. I let my heart cloud my judgement and I lost all sense of right and wrong. The truth is that I'm the other woman and what we're doing is hurting everyone we care about." Tears begin to swim in emerald eyes, making them unbelievably brighter, "I hate to say it, but the truth is that it can't go on. We can't keep doing this."

Hermione feels like it's the tenth shock in as many minutes. She can barely think. "You regret this? Regret us?" Her heart lurches painfully at the thought.

"No," Minerva leans in resting their foreheads together, "of course not. I cherish us. I cherish every moment I've held you in my arms, every single kiss and caress."

"Then why?"

"Because I can't keep sharing you. I can't live with the fact that you'll always go back to him. I love you. I need you. I need all of you, Hermione, and having only a bit of you isn't good enough."

Fear more powerful than anything she's felt before grips her. "And having none of me will make you happy?"

"No, but at least I'll stop feeling guilty."

"I am happy," she blurts. "I'm happy. Here with you, I'm happy. Why can't you see that? Why can't that be enough?"

Minerva leans back and stares into her eyes, making her feel much more expose than her state of undress. "Are you really happy? Lying to yourself and everyone else? Avoiding making the tough choices? How can you be happy when you're hiding from yourself?"

"Minerva, please."

"Do you even love him?"

It was a fair question, one she has asked herself many times. The answer was still unclear. She loved him once a long time ago. Back at the start of everything, she had loved him. Then she'd found herself a wife and mother, and she realized her life was happening without her. Things had changed after that, she had changed and the innocent love she'd left for him faded away.

"Do you love me?"

That question should be so much easier to answer and yet Hermione found herself tongue-tie. She had a family to think of. This wasn't just about them. She had Rose and Hugo, and Ron. She stays silent as the tears in Minerva's eyes pool and overflow.

/

The bright light inundating the room was proof enough that she'd slept in. Groaning against the light and the autumn chill in the air, she flings the covers off. The shrill little voices of her son and daughter reached her from downstairs. Licking her dry lips she dragged herself across the room to the bathroom.

The mirror shows a tried, almost haggard, woman. It's certainly not the jovial 32 year old she'd been only a couple months before. She frowns at the image and heads for the bath. There was a million and one things she had to do, including being a dutiful wife and mother.

When she reaches the kitchen she in instantly assaulted by the fading smell of pancakes. The remnants of breakfast litter the countertops and the sink is piled high with the dishes Ron used to cook. The mess of the meal (like every mess in her life) is waiting for her to clean it up. Ire raises it's ugly head at the mess. The spell is a simple one and certainly Ron could remember it.

"Morning babe. I'd thought you'd sleep forever the way you were going." He presses a kiss to her temple and she has to remind herself that he didn't mean anything by the pet name. He simply forget she disliked it (he certainly wasn't doing it deliberately). "No worries, though, I've got you covered. These two little devils have eaten and Rosie is doing some homework for _that _school."

She feels like she is chewing glass when he mentions the muggle school as if it was some type of nuthouse. "Thanks, Ron." It was all she could do to be civil these days.

"Aren't you going to work?"

"Nope, took the day off. Thought I'd spend it with my family."

She bristles as he leans in to kiss her lips. Her whole body going stiff at the closeness. "Don't."

He frowns and steps away. "Are you finally going to tell me what's been going on with you?"

Hermione turns towards the sink, deciding it was better to attend to the dishes than to have this conversation. She hasn't exactly been accommodating for the last few months. She's been irritable and sad, but there is nothing for it. There is nothing he can say to make it better. She misses her. That's the end of it. She misses her more than she ever thought she would. Neither work nor Ron (not even her children) can chase away the sadness. "Nothing."

It was his turn to sound irritable. "Don't. Ok. I've been patient. I've waited for you to sort of what's going on in your head. Now it's time to tell me. What is happening to you? To us?"

"Nothing is happening. I'm sorry I haven't been attentive, but..."

He glares at her. "Guys why don't you go play in the den?"

Hugo smiles as he tugs his blanket across the floor and does as he's asked. Rose on the other hand (her precious incredibly preceptive baby girl) looks between them for a moment before leaving the room. Hermione feels like a failure as she watches them leave. She's been failing as a mother lately. She's been too wrapped up in her own head.

Blue eyes narrow even more, "Don't make me out to be the bad guy. Don't act as if I'm mad because we haven't had sex in months. This isn't about that. I'm worried about you!"

"I'm fine." She lies easily. She's been lying to him for almost a year now. If she could lie about the reason behind her happiness she can lie about her sadness too.

"No, you're not. You're depressed!" He huffed. "What happened between you and McGonagall?"

She freezes and the plate in her hand slips and breaks. "Shit." She can feel his eyes on her again, more suspicious this time.

"Something happened didn't it? 'Cause you were always so happy when you too had lunch or whatever, but you haven't seen her in a while and now you're sad."

"Nothing happened, Ronald. Minerva," her throat closes in on the name, "is just very busy right now."

"Funny, she's never been too busy for you before."

She turns to look at him quickly, catching the sad almost knowing look in his eyes. She swallows and turns back to the sink. This isn't happening.

/

She apparates in front of Hogwart's gates. Hermione knows that's she's only a few minutes behind Ron (fifteen at most), but can't make him out in the dark. The wards open at her touch, reminding her of all the times she's visited the school in the previous year.

If she had more time it might affect her more (the reason why Hogwart's knows her so well might make her falter) but she has no time to lose.

The early winter snow is crunched under her boots as she runs up the lawn to the castle. She leaves a trail of it in the halls as walks quickly (reminding herself that there are students there)to the gargoyle guarding Minerva's rooms.

She can hear their voices before the spiral steps deposits her in front of Minerva's office door. Her anxiety takes over now that her journey's done, nerves tying her stomach into knots.

Ron turns as she enters, "Good you're here. She wont tell me anything."

"Ron," she says at the same time that Minerva utters a, "Mr. Weasley," that was all Professor McGonagall. They look at each other then, her eyes connecting with Minerva's as Ron seems to shrink before them.

There is something wounded in his eyes as he finally connects all the dots. "Fuck." He stares at her in disbelieve (willing her to say it isn't what he thinks).

Hermione doesn't. She can't deny what's plainly laid out before the three of them. It's almost comical how she'd been able to hide their affair while it was happening, how it's only now that she's given them away. "I'm sorry." The words are hollow. She isn't sorry at all.

"I can't believe this!"

"Ron, please," she tries to grab his arm as he makes for the door.

"I'll like to remind you both that this is a school and my place of work. I can give you the room if you need it, and I'd also like you to use the floo when you leave."

The professionalism seems to draw all the fight out of Ron and he stands staring at Minerva. "Why? She's my wife. Why did you have to get in the middle?"

"I..."

Hermione feels her heart sink as Minerva's whole demeanor falls. "Don't, if you want answers you can get them from me."

"Fine, why Hermione? What didn't I give you? What did she?"

She expected this. It's why she'd followed him to the castle. It was completely normal for him to be devastated (angry) and it shouldn't be Minerva that bore the brunt of it. "Ron lets go home. We can talk at home."

"No, I want to know, I have a right to know. What was it? Lust?"

Hermione looks across the room at Minerva who was looking at her with fear in her eyes. She hates herself then (like everyday before) for not answer Minerva when she asked. She will answer now, "No."

"Do you love her?"

A small gasp escapes Minerva as Ron voiced that very question she'd asked.

Lowering her eyes she nods, "I'm sorry Ron."

The room is engulfed in a heavy silence as they stand there. Hermione feels smaller and smaller with every second Ron's eyes are on her.

"You're really _in_ love with her?"

She raises her eyes to look at Minerva before giving a simple nod.

Ron moves to her slowly, reaching out in unsure almost boyish manner. "I love you, Mione, and I want you to be happy. If she makes you happy, you should be with her."

"Ron," she tries not entirely sure of what she could say.

"No, you have to follow your heart." The kiss he presses against her lips is chaste and feels like it will strangle her. "I'll stay at Mom's tonight. I guess you have things to talk about with the Headmistress, so you can get the kids in the morning."

"Thank you, Ron."

His smile is small and a little broken. "Good luck."

She watches him go with an incredible feeling of pride. He was a good man. With no small amount of shame she realizes that she should have trusted him enough to tell him when it had first started.

"Would you care for a drink Hermione? I think I need one." Minerva offers as the green flames die down.

"Fire-whiskey?"

"Muggle whiskey."

She accepts the glass and sips as they take a seat. She's exhausted, too exhausted for the emotional conversation that had to happen between them. "Minerva, I..."

The woman holds up a hand to silence her, "I only want to know one thing. Was he right? Do I make you happy?"

Taking a gulp of alcohol she steels her nerves (her doubts and sense of duty). "Yes."

Minerva's hand grasps hers across the space between them, intertwining their fingers. "It's been a long day, come to bed."

"Minerva, shouldn't we talk?" It's not what she wants. She wants to fall into Minerva's arms and sleep. She wants the sense of peace and happiness that she always found there.

"We'll work everything out in the morning. For now I simply want to hold you."

Hermione closes the space between them as they stand, kissing her softly. "That's all I want. You're all I want." She kisses her again and follows her upstairs, ignoring the rustle of voices from the gallery.

FIN


End file.
